


Sloppy

by buddenbrooks



Category: VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Crack, Drinking, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, Sloppy Boys Being Sloppy, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddenbrooks/pseuds/buddenbrooks
Summary: Jaehwan and Jin get messy together because I live for KenJin being sloppy bitches. Featuring a special appearance from the HBIC Table.





	Sloppy

Seokjin slaps the bar top with both hands, dislodging a stack of used plastic cups and sending them clattering to the floor. He uses the sticky grip of the wood to haul himself straight. It feels like he’s just swum a lake of treacle, his broad shoulders battered from forcing them through the crowd. Twisting around, the edge of the bar cuts into his waist and trickles of spilt spirits run down both arms. He looks out across the floor of the club. The wake he left has already been swallowed up by a press of bodies. Jaehwan is nowhere to be seen.

He’d sort of expected this, the moment an intensely grinding couple had forced themselves between the two of them. He’d felt Jaehwan’s long fingers slide sweatily through his, but the pulsing momentum of so many moving bodies forced him to keep going. Sandeul calls Seokjin ‘the cattle plough’, for the skill he has in shoving his large figure through a crowded club. Usually his friends duck behind and scuttle along in the space he creates behind him.

This time, Jaehwan hasn’t been so lucky. Lost at sea, Seokjin thinks. He’d toss his friend a lifeline, if he could spot him out there, but the place is too dark and Seokjin isn’t focusing too well anyway.

Instead he turns back to the bar, fixing a sloppy smile on his face, semi-apologetic since the bartender clearly knows he was the one who knocked all those cups over. It could have been worse - just a little further along is the glass collection point, tumblers and shotglasses stacked on a booze-fumed slick of spilled dregs. He didn’t smash anything there, so he thinks he’s still in the running to be served again.

“Two vodka cokes,” he yells at Hongbin’s unamused expression, adding, “please,” and notching his smile up a little when Hongbin fails to unfold his arms.

“You get one,” he says, plunking a tall glass down on the bar runner. “You don’t need two.”

“I do need two. They’re not both for me.” Seokjin goes to gesture at Jaehwan, can’t see him, and remembers. Lost at sea. Probably being trampled under someone’s stiletto heels. A sad loss. At least he’d be happy to die that way.

“You can have one drink, and an imaginary one for your imaginary friend.” Not a single drop overflows the jigger Hongbin pours with. He’s always so stingily precise with his pours. Seokjin pouts, and then remembers that Hongbin is straight, so that’s not going to work on him. Goddamn straights, always skimping on his drinks and ruining his fun.

“One’s for Jaehwannie,” he says, “Hongbin please. I promise he’s - he’s somewhere.”

“Probably off shoving something up his nose, so he definitely doesn’t need to drink any more.” Hongbin’s now holding his hand out for Seokjin’s cash, and the guy next to him is drumming his fingers on the bar and swirling the last mouthful of his drink around his glass in a very pointed way, so Seokjin scowls and pays and takes his single sodding drink. He turns his back with a huff, even though he knows Hongbin can’t hear him over the music. It makes him feel better.

Jaehwan is still nowhere to be seen. The music’s picked up in tempo, the heads of the crowd flickering up and down, shiny crowns of hair gleaming under the sporadic, flashing lights. Seokjin’s heart is jittering, his toes and fingers tap-tapping against the floor and the side of his glass. Probably Jaehwan has made a detour to the bathroom, and Seokjin sort of regrets not going with him. They did a bump together in the toilets of the bar before they came here, and he can feel it beginning to run its course, in the edgy unsettled sensation at the base of his spine.

He did say, before they came out, that they weren’t going to do anything but drink tonight. He knew that resolution would last approximately until the first time Jaehwan nudged him and said, “oh, go on, one line won’t hurt.” Seokjin’s weak for indulging himself, it’s just the way he’s made. On balance, Hongbin was right to only give him the one drink, because if he couldn’t find Jaehwan he certainly would have downed the second himself.

“Jaehwan,” he says, not even able to hear himself over the thudding bass. “Jaehwannie, whereforart thou Jaehwannie.”

Of course he knows that’s a misquotation, but Namjoon’s not here to be pedantic about it, and it sounds suitably forlorn.

Soemthing vibrates against his butt, and it takes Seokjin a good few seconds of staring furiously over his shoulder before he realises it’s his phone. He transfers his glass carefully into the other hand and takes a long swig while he fishes the phone out and squints at the screen. A call from beyond the grave: it’s Jaehwan. Seokjin answers, blinking vodka fumes out of his stinging eyes.

“Hey dick face,” he shouts, “where did you get to?”

“Hello Seokjin,” says a voice which is too sober to possibly be Jaehwan, and sounds a bit affronted at having just been addressed as 'dick face’.

“Shit,” Seokjin says, utterly out loud. “Hey Hakyeon.”

It’s an impressive skill to be able to sound so irritated while yelling down a phone in the middle of a crowded club. “'Dick face’ just pitched up at my table in a complete state. Maybe you’d like to come by and prise him off me.”

Seokjin makes a face at his phone. Sure, Jaehwan can be a bit of a sloppy drunk, but there’s no need for that tone. Not when Seokjin’s seen Hakyeon do five shots of schnapps and dance on a table. He knows what the problem is, though. That table had just been a regular table, in a regular bar. Perfectly acceptable to dance on, even if it had got the lot of them kicked out and Hakyeon hadn’t even apologised for kicking that candle over.

In this club, there’s only one table Hakyeon would be sitting at. It’s the one most of Seokjin’s friends wouldn’t even dare approach, reserved for the owner of the bar and his friends from around town. It’s the big, round table sitting in the furthest corner, sectioned off on its own. Rumour has it there are coolers of champagne under the cushioned seating. If this club were a high school, that would be the table where the most popular kids sit.

Seokjin got to sit there once, when he somehow ended up on a night out with Yuhwan and Taeha. He’d not seen any champagne, but there were a number of bottles of high end spirits being passed around. The owner of the club, Jo Kwon, had patted his knee and said he was always happy to host him there, but Seokjin had never tried to return.

He isn’t intimidated. He just prefers his nights out to be cheap, sloppy and active. Sitting sipping his drink in a restrained manner isn’t something that comes naturally to him.

Alright, he thinks as he approaches the table (sending someone flying with a particularly insistent shove of his left shoulder). Maybe he’s a little intimidated. There’s just something about the shadows cast around the table, the backlighting behind the high cushioned seats, and the glint off the collection of bottles which Sejoon would weep over, which gives the whole area a sanctified, untouchable aura. There’s no red velvet rope cordoning it off, but Seokjin still finds himelf looking around for permission before he steps up onto the raised area and sheepishly approaches.

“Hello,” Hakyeon says again.

His pinched lips and flared nostrils tell a story, one which ends with the red-cheeked, half-lidded expression of Jaehwan, sprawled at the edge of the seat with one arm slung around Hakyeon’s shoulder and his bottom lip sucked all the way into his mouth, like a petulant child after a stern reprimand. Seokjin understands why Hakyeon had used the word 'prise’; Jaehwan’s clinging to him hard, his fist in the shoulder of Hakyeon’s shirt pulling it into a concertina of wrinkles. He blinks up at Seokjin with deceptive innocence, and throws his free hand out. Hakyeon digs an elbow into his side. Jaehwan squeals.

“Jinnie. Where’d you go? Come sit down, it’s really nice here.”

Seokjin scans the table from under his eyelashes, already reaching for Jaehwan’s damp hand and reeling him in, away from his stiff-necked, stank-faced support. Across from Hakyeon, body turned away from the cephalopod spectacle of the sprawling Jaehwan, is Kim Kibum from the Shinee bar, with clear disgust showing in his dark lined eyes - a little hypocritical, Seokjin thinks, since he knows for a fact that Kibum once vomited in a plant pot in the reception of the Bar and Grill. Next to him is Jonghyun, trying hard not to look over as well, betraying his amusement by a little curling of the corner of his mouth. In the centre seat is a big dark haired dude Seokjin recognises from BAP’s, who is intently studying his glass of wine and stoically oblivious to everything else going on.

It’s a good thing he’s stronger than Jaehwan, because his friend is making an impressive attempt to drag him down on the seat next to him. Only after a sharp tug on his hand from Seokjin, and a sharp snap of, “for God’s sake Jaehwan,” from Hakyeon, does he abandon his attempts and let Seokjin pull him to his feet. The two of them stand there swaying for a moment while Jaehwan sneaks an arm around Seokjin’s waist and reorientates himself.

“Hi Jinnie. How did you find me?”

“Hakyeon called.”

“Hongbin told me you were trying to buy him,” indicating Jaehwan with a gesture of his chin and nose, “more drinks.”

“Hongbin’s a fucking snitch,” Jaehwan slurs. “It’s no fun here anyway.” He tips his head onto Seokjin’s shoulder, turns a little so his pointed nose nudges into Seokjin’s throat. “No fun, Jinnie. Let’s go dance. Let’s go to the bathroom and then dance.” He aims to tap his nose with a forefinger, misses completely. Seokjin sees Jonghyun stifle a snigger.

“You should go home,” Hakyeon says, and then takes up his glass and turns his shoulder enough to dismiss them.

“Fuckin’,” Jaehwan starts, and then Seokjin - messily, maybe spilling a few people’s drinks in the process, but as swiftly as he can manage - drags him into the depths of the crowd where his inevitably expletive ridden tirade can blow over without potentially losing him his job.

They surface again on the other side of the room, thankfully together this time. Hongbin moves to the other side of the bar as soon as he sees them, his back turned and shoulders set in a defiantly self-righteous manner. Jaehwan tosses a plastic cup at his head. He doesn’t react.

“Whatever,” Seokjin says, pulling his friend closer since he looks worryingly close to collapsing in the middle like an overcooked noodle. “Let’s just go to mine.

With a grunt, Jaehwan hauls himself until he’s pressed right against Seokjin’s side, both arms clinging around his shoulders. He smells like booze, and a fine chemical trace of whatever’s still lingering around his left nostril, and he’s warm to the point of being clammy under his shirt. It’s a bit gross. Seokjin likes it. Jaehwan finds his ear with his lips and gives him a kiss which rings over the club music.

"Can we go home and make out and get pizza?”

“All of those things,” Seokjin says. Sloppy pizza, sloppy makeouts and a very sloppy Jaehwan stuck to his side. Seokjin’s happy. Being refined is so overrated.


End file.
